


Just Us (And The Dark Lord)

by Arualiaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Humor, Kinda, M/M, Romance, Songfic, Whether Harry returns Voldemort's affections is up to you, and sassy, but he's definitely jealous, does that count as self-loathing?, humorous third wheel, tom and voldemort bicker a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:43:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arualiaa/pseuds/Arualiaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Tom are having a candle-lit dinner. Lord Voldemort won't give them a minute alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Us (And The Dark Lord)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be cracky humor in its entirety, but my finger slipped and there's some feels at the end.
> 
> I was inspired by the song You, Me and Steve by Garfunkel and Oates. This is also the song that Tom parodies near the end.

The flickering light of small flames danced in their eyes, reflecting warmth that went beyond any literal meaning of the word. Two young people in love were enjoying a meal together, hands intertwined underneath the table they shared. They needn’t hide their relationship, but the gesture was compelling in its intimacy. Tom was rubbing Harry’s fingers absently, a gentle caress that tingled them both.

Harry huffed out a quiet laugh. “You _do_ know it's hard to eat with only one hand, do you?”

The taller male couldn't help but smile, far too fond to be as mischievous as intended. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He did not make any move to release his light hold, however. If Harry wanted to withdraw his hand, he would.

“What are you waiting for, then? Let go. Or are you planning to starve him?”

Tom’s forehead hit the table. There he went, _again._

The third occupant of the table was hiding his emotions behind his usual sneer, but his slitted eyes betrayed the fact that he was probably too amused for his own good.

Damn him.

“Harry, please remind me again about why _he_ is here.”

Before he could speak, a pale, bony hand gestured dramatically to its owner’s chest. “Obviously, I am here to watch over my dear horcrux. I do not trust you with his safety.”

“You don't trust _yourself_? Now that is just grand. When did we become so paranoid, _old man_ -?”

Harry rolled his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Just ignore him, Tom. Really, I’ll end up hexing you both.”

“Ah- that shall not be necessary. By all means, resume as if I weren’t here. Lord Voldemort will not interrupt you,” the serpentine man drawled, before returning to his own plate of steak.

The pompous third person was the proverbial icing of the cake. Tom was pinching the bridge of his nose so hard, it was probably red by now. “Sure you won't.”

The ensuing silence stretched far too much for comfort, only broken by Tom’s agitated drumming of fingers over the table. Harry was rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly, right where his untamable hair stuck upwards.

Finally, _something_ did go according to Tom’s carefully planned schedule for what was supposed to be the perfect night. Two men dressed in elegant suits settled down an appropriate distance away from their table, and began setting up a piano keyboard, a pair of stools and pedestals for musical scores. One of them pulled out a guitar.

“Tom, did you-?”

“Shhh. They’re going to begin now,” he muttered with a grin.

Tom had asked for a selection of love songs that he knew Harry would like. Nothing too distracting, to not interrupt conversation, but at the moment there was none. Harry was silent, apparently concentrated on the music, and Tom drank in the sight of his lover lost in his thoughts. Harry was smiling softly, his eyes almost closed.

Of course, that moment had to be ruined as well. Voldemort clapped lightly, his expression a mask of snobbish indifference. “Bravo, bravo. That performance was splendid. You got good musicians, kid.”

A groan escaped Tom. “Did you have to do that?” Harry scolded his older – and infinitely more annoying – self.

“Oh, but I just complimented him on his choices. Accuse me of vanity for congratulating myself if you will, but I certainly do not mean to sabotage your little date, Harry dearest.” Bullshit. A smirk played on his lips, and Tom was absolutely sure that the Dark Lord knew exactly what he was doing.

“He’s not your dearest!”

“You seem agitated. Did you perhaps have too much wine?” Voldemort’s saccharine smile was disgusting. Tom shook in rage he could just barely control.

“This is _it_ ,” he almost hissed, before storming off in the direction of a very bewildered musician and snatching the guitar from his hands.

His fingers began to strum, as the pianist reluctantly joined with a steady rhythm.

Tom began to sing.

“ _Candlelight and moonlight all around us, I look into your eyes. We hold hands underneath the table, and I can't disguise the way I feel._

_I could have wished a thousand wishes for this night, I’m out of words..._ ”

The strumming began to grow furious, insistent. “ _And it's finally me and you, and you and me, just us-_ “ He growled the next words, a scowl firm in place. “ _And the **Dark Lord**!_

_Do do do do do future me, do do do do do do **do leave**! What’s the deal with Voldemort? **Hey**! What’s your problem?_ ”

“You two are both _unbelievable_.”

Tom froze, his hand stilling against the strings. His beloved was looking at him intently, and shame made crimson spread through his face and neck.

He’d just ruined the night. The same night he’d been planning for months, right to the minute, right to the _second_ , because one-year anniversaries were supposed to be perfect. He’d done intense research on the subject of relationship milestones, soldiered on through the incoherent babbling of mindless fools (they bastardized the emotion, made it sound so _common_. No one would ever get the extent of his feelings for Harry. No one, ever, he was sure of it) when lowering to the act of ask for advice. He’d been told horror stories of anniversary nights going so epically wrong that the relationship didn't even last the following week.

Everyone agreed that it better be _perfect_ , and he’d just ruined it. And everything was his older self’s fault.

Arms wrapped around him, and his vision was a faceful of Harry. He started so bad he almost dropped the guitar.

"At least someone is having fun tonight,” Voldemort drawled, not as amused as he could be sounding. Something in his voice and expression was soft.

It took Tom embarrassingly long to realize that Harry was _giggling_. Uneven puffs of breath tickled the side of his neck, and his shoulders shook with mirth. He sagged slightly in relief, gently placed the guitar on his chair, and returned the embrace.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His lover’s scent was soothing. “You’re a dork,” Harry said, pulling away slightly and looking at him with a sweet smile, just for Tom. “I love you.”

And then Harry kissed him, slowly. The tenderness of it made his heart flutter. Harry was smiling, he was feeling giddy with emotion, all was well.

Voldemort shook his head with a sigh and returned to the delicious steak on his plate.

Maybe the night didn't have to go according to plan to be perfect.


End file.
